


Bucky Claus

by elliex



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:02:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9010846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: Whoever puts on the suit becomes Santa. That's the legend. Is it the reality?





	

**Author's Note:**

> The other day, I was working on a different SteveBucky fic with The Santa Clause playing in the background -- and then this fic happened! 
> 
> This fic is not compliant with canon (either Marvel or the Santa Clause film). It is light-hearted, fluffy stuff. Translations are from Google (apologies for mistakes.) 
> 
> If you read, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Happy Holidays to all who celebrate! <3

+  
 

The Asset lays on the rooftop’s edge, long-range rifle in hand, and waits. Readjustment of the rifle’s angle is continuously required due to the interference from blustery winds thirty stories high.

 

Heavy snow falls, covering the rooftop of the shorter building that stands between the Asset’s post and the target’s hotel room on a lower floor.

 

The Asset waits.

 

The Asset blinks away snowflakes that catch upon eyelashes.

 

The Asset shifts, adjusting the downward angle again to accommodate wind gusts.

 

A light comes on in the target’s room. The Asset takes aim and watches through the scope.

 

The target walks into the crosshairs. The Asset pulls the trigger but something blocks vision and the shot.

 

“Góvno [shit],” the Asset grounds out. Ignoring whatever caught the first bullet, the Asset takes aim again. The shot isn’t as clean, but it gets the job done. The target’s blood sprays across the windows.

 

The Asset taps a hidden earpiece. “Missiya vypolnena [mission completed].” 

 

The earpiece crackles to life. “Dobycha v pyatidesyati [extraction in fifty].” 

 

In seconds, the Asset packs away all weaponry. A scream rends the air as the target’s body is discovered.  

 

The Asset spares a glance and notes the room flooding with hotel staff and security. Anyone with training will know to look up, so the Asset jumps down, landing quietly on the snow-covered roof.  

 

Then the Asset sees what blocked the first shot – a large male in a fur-lined suit. Blood pools beneath the man’s head; his hand still clutches the handle of a large, cinched bag. 

 

The Asset notes the thick fabric, the fur lining.  

 

A picture assaults the Asset’s mind, freezing the physical body: Warmth, candlelight, a flash of blue, a cup of warm liquid. Pain stabs the brain. 

 

The Asset disrobes the corpse and slips into the warm coat and matching overalls.  The Asset sighs as the warmth envelopes the body.  

 

A crackling voice announces, “Dobycha v soroka [extraction in forty].” 

 

The Asset continues descending to the sidewalk and falls in with the evening crowd wending its way along. The extraction point is reached without incident.  

 

+ 

 

Five months later, on another continent, the Asset falls.  

 

Who emerges from the depths of the Potomac, dragging his mission to safety, isn’t the Asset, isn’t the Winter Soldier.  

 

A bystander takes a picture of the bedraggled man who only walks away after making sure that Captain America lives.

 

Captain America uses this picture to track the man across the globe – Shanghai, Paris, Berlin.  

 

It’s in Bucharest that the reborn man is found, a bag of plums in one hand, a hat pulled low over his face, months’ worth of scruff on a chiseled jaw. 

 

“Do you remember me?,” Captain America asks.  

 

“No,” lies the man.  

 

“Bucky.” Steve is pleading. 

 

The man once known as James Buchanan Barnes can’t ignore the raw heartbreak that reverberates in the spoken syllables of his name.  

 

He steels himself and meets Steve’s eyes. 

 

“Come home,” Steve says. “Please?” 

 

Bucky inventories Steve’s body language, notes the lack of guile, the yearning sincerity.  He casts his eyes about his one-room apartment. He has felt comfortable here. It reminds him of their first apartment in Brooklyn. He realizes that he doesn’t really want to leave.  

 

He clears his throat. “What if this is home?” 

 

Steve swallows hard. “Then, can –“ his voice breaks – “can I stay?” 

 

Something breaks free in Bucky’s chest. His lips curve in an unfamiliar way. 

 

Steve gives a tentative smile. “That a yes, Buck?” 

 

Bucky opens his mouth to speak but his throat is tight. He nods instead. 

 

When Steve’s arms slip around him, for the first time in decades, Bucky’s home.  

 

+

 

“Sam!” Steve grins wide, and before Sam can blink, he’s being bear-hugged by a Captain America in the middle of a bustling grocery store.  

 

Sam grunts and squeaks out, “Happy to see you, man, but you gotta loosen your grip.” 

 

Steve drops his arms and steps back. “Oh, uh. Sorry.” His lips quirk. “Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in.” Sam shakes his head in amusement and catches sight of Steve’s cart. He cocks his eyebrow. “Got enough cookies there, Cap?”

 

Steve just grins and grabs two more packs of Oreos, adding them to the towering pile. “Gotta keep up with the metabolism.” 

 

“Ugh. Lucky super soldier bastard.” Sam holds up the case of beer he’s carrying. “Here I am feeling guilty about indulging and you’re a cookie monster with abs of steel.”  

 

Steve laughs. “They’re actually not mine.” 

 

Sam gapes. “You mean Old Man Winter likes cookies – likes Oreos? Are you kidding me?” 

 

“No, man. He _loves_ Oreos. He loves cookies of every kind. It’s the damnedest thing – neither of us was big on sweets when we were kids. Lately, though, that’s all he’ll eat.” 

 

“Taking advantage of twenty-first century amenities. That’s a good sign, Steve.” 

 

“Yeah, he is doing pretty well – isn’t he?” Steve raises his eyebrows questioningly.  

 

Sam pats him on the back. “Yeah, he is. Saw him yesterday at the VA – he’s doing amazing.” 

 

Steve’s eyes shine with emotion. “Thank you, Sam, for everything – Helping us while we were in Bucharest and now getting him set up here—” Sam holds up a hand and cuts Steve off.  

 

“Dude’s my friend. So are you. That’s all that needs to be said.” Steve rubs at his eyes. “Now, none of that,” Sam warns. “’Sides,” he adds, jerking a thumb towards the cart, “Don’t we need to get your boy some milk?” 

 

Steve groans. “Oh my god, _yes_. Thanks for the reminder. If I’d have forgotten, the asshole would’ve sent me back out to the store.”  

 

Sam grins. “And you’d have gone, right?” 

 

"In a heartbeat."

 

+ 

 

Bucky’s sprawled on the couch watching _I Love Lucy_ and dunking Oreos into a cup of milk when Sam and Steve come in.  

 

“Still where I left you, I see,” Steve says. He snorts a laugh when Bucky replies by flipping him off. “Charming, Buck.” 

 

“You love me,” Bucky retorts, his eyes never leaving the screen. 

 

Sam snorts, sets his case of beer on the floor, and plops down on the couch beside Bucky. “You seen the grape stomping episode yet?” 

 

“Grape stomping? No, but that sounds fun.” Bucky turns towards the kitchen area, where Steve’s unpacking the groceries. “Hey, Steve, can—” 

 

“No,” Steve answers. 

 

“But—“ 

 

“Rmember Naples?” 

 

Bucky slumps back onto the couch. “Fine.” 

 

“Naples?,” Sam asks. “Do I want to know?” 

 

Bucky and Steve answer in unison: “No.” 

 

Sam laughs. “Okay, then.” He reaches for an Oreo.

 

Bucky slaps his hand. “Get your own,” he growls. 

 

“Didn’t your mama teach you to share?” 

 

“Dude, my mama never had Oreos.” 

 

“Children,” Steve mutters, tossing a package of Oreos to Sam and claiming the seat to Bucky’s right.  

 

“My hero,” Sam says, immediately ripping the package open. 

 

“Traitor,” Bucky declares.  

 

Steve rolls his eyes and hands Bucky another package. “Double-stuffed, just the way you like it.”  
  
“You mean the way _you_ like it,” Bucky retorts. Steve’s ears turn red. 

 

Sam chokes, spewing cookies across his shirt. “What’d you say?” 

 

Steve’s entire face is flushed, and he focuses intently on opening his own pack of Oreos. 

 

Bucky grins and waggles his eyebrows at Sam. 

 

“Oh my _Lord_ ,” Sam exclaims. “ _Finally_.” He quickly brushes the crumbs off his shirt and grabs his phone. His fingers fly over the keyboard.  

 

An Oreo bounces off his forehead. “Ow!,” he exclaims.  

 

“Who are you texting?,” Bucky asks. He throws another Oreo, but Sam deflects it.  

 

Steve sighs. “Natasha, of course.”  

 

“How did you—“ Sam asks, just as Bucky exclaims, “Oh, did you win the pool? How much did it get up to?” 

 

Sam eyes them and bestows his patented disappointed-in-you-and-your-choices face. “Are you serious?” 

 

Steve shoves an Oreo into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky shoves one into Steve’s.  

 

Sam’s eyes narrow. “You two played us.” 

 

Bucky huffs indignantly. “Us?” Sam gets some satisfaction seeing that even super soldier mouths can’t always control cookie crumbs. 

 

Steve shrugs and chews, though his lips twitch the tiniest bit.  

 

“Uh-huh. And I’m just guessing that” – Sam scrolls through the spreadsheet on Google docs – “oh, there it is: B. Grant from Records is actually you two fuckers.” 

 

Bucky and Steve grin, revealing perfect teeth flecked with black crumbles, but say nothing.  

 

“You assholes.” He tosses his phone onto the coffee table and slumps into his seat. “I was gonna use that money to go to Fiji.” 

 

“We’re gonna use it to buy Oreos,” Bucky confides.  

 

“And milk,” Steve adds. “ _Real_ milk – not that nasty milk-flavored water you buy.” 

 

Sam crams two cookies into his mouth and mutters about the perils of being friends with devious, no-good, stupid-in-love super soldiers.  

 

+ 

 

In retrospect, it’s at Stark’s Halloween party that things start getting weird. Bucky’s enjoyment of all things sweet has continued to crescendo – Steve even caught him eating rocky road ice cream with hot fudge, whipped cream, and sprinkles for _breakfast_. Steve’s mouth wrinkles in distaste at the memory of what that morning’s goodbye kiss had tasted like (not that he’ll _ever_ tell Bucky that the lingering sugar had made him nauseous).  

 

At the moment, Bucky’s munching on caramel corn and speaking animatedly with Sam, who is cracking up. It’s a sight that warms Steve’s heart.  

 

Then he notices the gaggle of children trailing Bucky. One little girl with wide blue eyes and brown hair is edging closer and closer. Steve’s brow furrows, trying to figure out what she’s up to.  

 

He figures it out a half second too late. Next thing he knows, Bucky’s on top of the refreshment table, glaring at the world in Soldier mode, and Sam’s comforting a screaming little girl who didn’t know she shouldn’t tug on the jacket of a man with severe PTSD. 

 

It takes Steve three minutes to get Bucky to come back to himself. Buck’s horrified and humiliated – even though Sam, Steve, and even Tony reassure him that it’s okay, that everyone understands. “I told Pepper allowing little monsters at this party was a bad idea,” Tony grumbles. 

 

Bucky’s eyes widen, and Steve can see the hurt. So does Tony. “Oh shit, Barnes, I said _little_ monsters. Not gigantic, six-feet-plus tall monsters.” Bucky nods, but he still looks off his game, shrunken and smaller than usual.  

 

“I’m going to round up the human beings under the age of ten and force them to watch _Hotel Transylvania_ and stay out of the adult areas,” Tony declares. “You okay, Barnes?” 

 

Bucky shrugs. Tony slips off his glasses and assesses Bucky. “Rogers,” he orders, “take your beau home and remind him how special he is.” Tony claps Barnes on the shoulder. “Get some rest, Bucko. It’ll be fine.” 

 

“What about the—” 

 

“The little girl?,” Tony asks, cutting Bucky off. “Our dear Amelia is being entertained by Falcon, the Norse God of Thunder, and that ridiculous Scott guy.” He turns and points, and sure enough, the little girl is grinning as Thor re-enacts some outlandish story with Scott’s help. 

 

As if on cue, Sam looks over and meets Steve’s eyes. He grins, gives a thumbs up and signs, “She’s good. Take care of Bucky.” 

 

Steve salutes and gently takes Bucky by the elbow. Nodding at Tony, he murmurs, “Let’s go home, Buck, okay?” 

 

Bucky nods and lets Steve lead him away from the party.  

 

+

 

The next day, a package addressed to The Winter Soldier arrives at the apartment. 

 

Steve calls Jarvis, who calls Maria, who dispatches a Stark Security elite team that she’s personally trained.  

 

After they take possession of the package, it’s run through a battery of tests, and, hours later, Maria finally delivers the verdict: It’s probably not going to explode.  

 

“ _Probably_?,” Bucky mutters to Steve, who elbows him to keep quiet and thanks Maria.  

 

“She will _kill_ you, Bucky. Behave.” 

 

It’s Natasha who slits the envelope open and dumps out the contents.  “It’s an external hard drive,” she announces.  

 

Bucky, still subdued from the night before, just sighs. “It’s probably about all the shit I did.” 

 

“You’re not the Winter Soldier,” Steve and Sam say in sync.  

 

“Jinx,” Natasha mutters under her breath. Louder, to Bucky, she says, “Oni pravy, Yasha. [They’re right, Yasha]” 

 

Bucky gives her a hopeless look, the one Steve hasn’t seen in months – not since their early days in Bucharest. 

 

“Hook’er up,” Tony orders, striding into the room. A panel slides away from the center of the table, revealing several ports. Natasha hooks up the drive, and its lights begin blinking. 

 

“What do we have, Jarvis?,” Tony asks. 

 

“Something peculiar,” Jarvis announces. “I need a moment or two.” 

 

Tony raises his eyebrows. “You need more time? What the hell is this thing?” 

 

“Hydra,” Bucky bites out, bitterness dripping from the word. 

 

“No, Sergeant Barnes, it’s not Hydra,” Jarvis says. “It’s an inventory of some kind, written in a language I am unfamiliar with.” 

 

“Jesus. Is it extraterrestrial?,” Tony asks. “Do I need to call Thor?” 

 

“I am not yet sure, Sir. I need another moment.” 

 

Tony somberly takes a seat – “This can’t be good” is written all over his face. Natasha’s expression is frozen. Sam’s got his “I will not freak out” face on, and Bucky… well, Bucky just looks miserable.  

 

Steve reaches for Bucky’s left hand and laces their fingers together without asking. 

 

“'Til the end of the line,” Steve reminds him. 

 

The only answer he gets is metal tightening on his flesh, but that’s enough. He squeezes back, grateful to see the tension in Bucky’s shoulders ease a little. 

 

Five minutes later, Jarvis speaks: “Sir? I’ve deciphered the inventory, but—” The AI hesitates – _Jarvis hesitates?_ , Steve thinks.

 

“But what, but what?,” Tony demands.  

 

“It’s in Elvish, Sir.” 

 

“What?,” exclaims everyone in the room. 

 

“Elvish,” Jarvis repeats. “It’s a list of names – seemingly of every person in the world.” 

 

“Impossible,” Tony says, his eyes huge. 

 

“Is this an attempt to reactivate the Winter Soldier and Project Insight? Because they cannot have him. They _cannot_ ,” Steve yells. He only realizes he’s jumped to his feet when Bucky’s hand tugs at his. Steve lets Bucky pull him back into his seat. 

 

“No, Captain Rogers. This does not appear to be Hydra intel or even SHIELD,” Jarvis explains. “The inventory comes with instructions for Sergeant Barnes to mark them as naughty or nice.” 

 

The room is so silent you could hear a pin drop, so when Natasha murmurs, “ _Ded Moroz_ ,” everyone hears. 

 

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes. “Old Man Frost? Whatever, Nat.” 

 

But Tony’s eyes light up. “Oh my God, _of course_.” 

 

“Of course, what?,” Bucky asks, glaring at Tony. 

 

“Don’t kill me yet, Grandpop Winter,” Tony warns. “Just give me a second.”

 

He calls up screens and orders Jarvis to pull the “top secret” footage from earlier that year in Poland. Bucky flashes across the screen – or, rather, The Winter Soldier does – wending his way through heavy sidewalk traffic. “Thank God for traffic cameras, am I right?” 

 

“You had this footage the whole time?,” Steve asks, his face pale.  

 

“Uh… yes,” Tony concedes. “We didn’t know it was relevant.” 

 

“If I had seen this, I would’ve known,” Steve barks, his eyes fixed on the clearly visible features of The Winter Soldier. 

 

“Would you have, Steve?,” Natasha asks. “Take another look – if you didn’t know now that The Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes are one and the same, would you have recognized him?” 

 

Steve considers her question and surveys the frozen picture. Before he can answer, Bucky does. “No. He wouldn’t have – He didn’t.” 

 

Steve’s head whips towards Bucky. “Excuse me?” 

 

Bucky shrugs. “I was sent to do recon prior to my last mission. I spoke to you, Steve; you didn’t know who we were to each other. It’s no big deal – neither did I.” 

 

“No big deal? _Bucky_ ,” Steve’s face is pained. “When? Where?” 

 

“Neighborhood Little League game. I was told to blend, so I pretended one of the players was my kid. Covered my arm, wore my hair down, had on a hat – I don’t remember what we talked about, but we talked. You didn’t remember; I reported I had made contact and knew where you lived. That was it.” 

 

Steve’s eyes widen. “How—“ 

 

“He was told to blend,” Natasha says gently. “So he blended. The Winter Soldier didn’t make mistakes.” 

 

“Until you called me Bucky,” Bucky adds. “Then, the Soldier made plenty according to his handlers, but not according to _me_.” 

 

“Bucky,” Steve whispers, leaning forward and kissing Bucky.

 

Sam makes a retching noise. “Y’all are so sweet I’m gonna get diabetes.”  

 

Steve thinks Natasha laughs but he’s not sure. He’s focused on mapping the inside of Bucky’s mouth. 

 

Tony clears his throat – loudly - and says – also loudly – “So O’ Winter One _meant_ to kill Santa?” 

 

Steve and Bucky break apart. “What?,” they ask. 

 

Tony gestures to the screen, where Jarvis has now enlarged the outfit the Soldier was wearing. “How’d you get that coat?,” he asks Bucky.  

 

Bucky shrugs. “Not sure.” 

 

“Think about it. Get back to me.” Tony shakes his head. “Cause I’ve got a bad feeling that one particular legend is more history than folk tale.” 

 

“Which legend?,” Natasha asks.  

 

“The one where whoever puts on the suit becomes Santa.” 

 

“Pretty sure that was a movie,” Sam says. 

 

“ _The Santa Clause_ , circa 1994, and starring Tim Allen,” Jarvis interjects. “The film, which grossed almost 190 million dollars at the box office, drew from a little-known legend—” 

 

“Are you for real?,” Sam asks, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you actually saying that my pal Bucky offed Santa, didn’t know it, put on the suit, and is now Santa?” 

 

Bucky blushes when Sam calls him “my pal.”  

 

“Yes, sir, that’s what I’m hypothesizing,” Jarvis answers.

 

“Who the hell put a hit on Santa?,” Sam asks. 

 

Bucky’s brow furrows, and he stares off into the distance. After a long minute, he says, “I don’t think there was a hit on the old guy. I – I think he got in the way.” 

 

“Ah-ha!,” Tony exclaims, pointing at Bucky. “The Winter Soldier _did_ make mistakes.” 

 

“So how’d you wind up with that coat?,” Steve asks.

 

“It was cold?,” Bucky offers. 

 

Tony leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers. “So, you’re Santa.” 

 

“No,” Bucky says. “I can’t be Santa – I freaked when that kid grabbed my jacket last night!” He stands and starts pacing frantically. “You said it’s in Elvish, right, Jarvis?” 

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

“Then, that means there’s someone who knows the Santa lore, who wrote the inventory, and sent it to me. _They_ can be Santa.” 

 

“I’m not sure it works like that,” Tony says. 

 

Bucky sets his jaw. “It does now. I’m not doing _that_ – just because I put on a coat that my handlers probably incinerated as soon as they shoved me back in cryo. Of all the ridiculous…” He continues to mutter under his breath.  

 

Tony studies the list as Jarvis projects the translated pages. Natasha’s playing Candy Crush on her phone. Steve gives Sam a “what do we do now?” look.  

 

Sam shrugs. “Don’t look at me, man. I’m still stuck on ‘Yes, Samuel, There _is_ a Santa Claus.’” 

 

Steve sighs and helplessly watches Bucky pace.  

 

+ 

 

On November 8th, another package arrives – this one also includes an external hard drive but also a rolled parchment with a proclamation written in Elvish directing one Sergeant James Barnes to take action. 

 

On November 16th, a third drive arrives. The rolled parchment is now accompanied by what Jarvis deduces is a legal document, threatening to sue Bucky for breach of contract.  

 

“Breach of contract? What?!,” Bucky asks. “I never agreed to _anything_.” 

 

Tony has his lawyers working on it, but since they know nothing about Elvish law, and can’t locate an original account of the legend, they’re not making much progress.  

 

Bucky’s still eating junk food pretty much nonstop, only he’s not enjoying it like he was. He checks his body in the mirror every morning and runs his hands over the planes of his abdominals, as if he’s checking for Santa pudge. (Steve helps most mornings.) 

 

The day before Thanksgiving, Bucky finds several solid white hairs that are as long as the rest of his shoulder-length hair. Steve freaks out over that more than Bucky, and it takes both of them more than a minute to figure out that Steve’s fear stems from worry that Bucky’s serum won’t extend his life as long as Steve’s.  

 

“You doofus,” Bucky chides him later. They’re in bed, with Steve’s face pressed against Bucky’s heart, his leg nestled between Bucky’s.

 

“I’m not leaving you – I’ll get Stark to upload me or something if it comes down to it.” Steve tightens his hold on Bucky’s waist.  

 

“You promise?,” Steve asks, trying and failing to hide a sniffle. “I can’t – I can’t go through that again, Buck. I won’t.” 

 

Bucky takes a long moment to answer. He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair gently, holding his body tightly with the metal arm. Steve’s not sure he’s ever felt so welcome a weight. “I won’t leave you,” he says thickly. “End of the line, remember?” 

 

Steve nods and shuts his eyes, pressing his face more tightly to Bucky’s chest.  “Punk,” Bucky murmurs. 

 

“Jerk,” Steve replies. A beat later, “I love you.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

Steve smiles against Bucky’s bare chest. “I get that reference!” 

 

“You’d better, you geezer. Sam’s only made us watch the trilogy three times.” 

 

Steve snuggles even closer. “Yeah, well, I’m _your_ geezer.” 

 

“Damn right you are.”  Steve’s half asleep when Bucky adds softly, “And I’m yours.” 

 

+ 

 

Tony’s Thanksgiving extravaganza hits a major snafu early on: The deep fryer explodes, spewing turkey guts and hot oil all over the kitchen.  

 

“Damn, that’s gonna take Dum-E a week to clean up,” he observes. The little robot trills and beeps what are clearly expletives as it works.  

 

Pepper calls in a favor and gets dinner delivered. Nearly everyone’s come together for the holiday: Wanda, Peter, and Darcy are talking about school; Jane and Thor are sharing their latest adventures; Bruce has returned from his extended retreat; Clint’s glued to Natasha’s side per usual; Sam’s chatting up Maria; and Bucky and Steve are lost in each other’s eyes. Or, at least, that’s what Tony says with an exaggerated eye roll.  He narrowly dodges the fork that Bucky throws and cackles when it embeds in the wall behind him.  

 

“Losing your touch there, Terminator?”

 

“Tony,” Pepper warns. “You promised—”

 

“Yeah, yeah, good will and peace to all. Fine.” He leans forward and helps himself to more cranberry sauce. “So what’s the word on the Santa sitch?”

 

“You know more than I do,” Bucky says flatly. “Have your lawyers figured out what the hell is actually going on?”

 

“What’s going on,” says a voice Steve doesn’t recognize, “is that you’re in violation of your job contract.”

 

Conversation at the festive table freezes, and they all turn to see a short, dark-haired young man in what looks to be a jester’s outfit.

 

“Who the hell are you?,” Bucky asks just as Tony calls out, “Jarvis, what the hell?”

 

“He just materialized, Sir,” Jarvis answers apologetically. “Security is on its way.”

 

The man waves a hand dismissively. “Might as well save the energy, boys. Elf tech can beat Stark tech any day.”

 

“The Hell you say,” Tony retorts.

 

Thor stands. “I doubt that your tech beats _mine_.”

 

The man looks Thor up and down. “Heh. Asgardian. Well, you might give me a run for my money, but I’m not worried.”

 

Bruce stands, and his skin has a decidedly green pallor. “Tony—” Pepper stands with him, wrapping her hands around Bruce’s left arm.

 

“Go, go,” Tony says. “I’ll call you if we need you… I mean, Him.”

 

Bruce nods, and he and Pepper exit the room posthaste.

 

“Now,” Tony says, turning back to the stranger. “Start from the beginning.”

 

“Who are you?,” Bucky interrupts.

 

The stranger answers Bucky first. “Bernard Kringle, distant relation to the original Kris and Head Elf to what _was_ a thriving organization.”

 

“And why are you here?,” Steve asks.

 

“Did Sergeant Barnes not get the packages? Did you not read the directions? I’m here because he’s not doing _his job_.”

 

“His job?,” Steve asks.

 

“So the suit thing, it’s for real?,” Tony asks.

 

“The Santa Clause? Yeah, it’s real,” Bernard answers. He pulls out a card and tosses it to Tony.

 

“Enlarge and Project this,” Tony orders, holding the card in the air. Jarvis does as told, and in seconds, all of them can see the business card of one Santa Claus, with the legal contract running in tiny script around its edge.

 

“You’re Santa,” Bernard tells Bucky.

 

“The hell I am,” Bucky retorts.

 

Clint starts giggling. “What’s so damn funny?,” Bucky demands.

 

“I’m picturing you and Steve as Mr. and Mr. Claus and I just –” He dissolves into belly-deep laughter.

 

Sam’s next, his guffaws echoing, and even Natasha and Maria crack a smile. Thor and Jane look puzzled, and Wanda, Peter, and Darcy are all staring in wide-eyed disbelief.

 

Bucky glares at all of them. So does Steve.

 

Tony’s mouth twists, and Bucky points menacingly at him. “Don’t.”

 

Tony spreads his hands as if in innocence. “Okay, Elf-boy, listen up,” he says. “Winter here doesn’t want to be Santa, so how do we re-negotiate this contract.”

 

“You can’t re-negotiate.”

 

“Is that in the contract?”

 

“It’s understood,” Bernard says slowly.

 

“Huh. My lawyers will see about that.”

 

“You can’t – I mean, if we don’t get a move on, Christmas is going to be _ruined_ for kids around the globe. You get that, right?,” Bernard says to Bucky. “I mean, it’s bad enough you don’t look like Santa—”

 

“Thank God for small mercies,” Bucky mutters.

 

“—But if we don’t get the presents made and delivered? It’ll be devastating.” Bernard crosses his arms and glares disapprovingly at Bucky. “So what are you going to do?”

 

Bucky scrubs a hand over his face. “How is this my life? I was a good kid – wasn’t I, Steve?” Steve nods and pats Bucky on the back. “What the hell did I do to deserve this on top of everything else?”

 

“You murdered Santa for one,” Bernard retorts.

 

Bucky cringes.

 

“And then the elves – _so many elves_ – who tried to contact you.”

 

“I didn’t kill any elves,” Bucky protests. “Other than, you know, the dude in the suit. But even that was an accident!”

 

Bernard concedes. “The first elf contacts were killed by your handlers – all of them on the Naughty list since practically birth, I should add, but there was a plane carrying our infiltration team that you tossed a grenade into in DC.”

 

Bucky winces. “I don’t remember that. Sorry.”

 

Bernard grimaces. “Yeah, I figured. Your name is somehow still on the Nice list despite your Elf kills.”

 

Bucky looks up at that, looks downright hopeful even. “It is?”

 

“Told you,” Steve says to him.

 

“Yeah, it is,” Bernard answers. “But I’m going to personally remove it if you don’t fix this mess.”

 

Bucky bangs his head against the table. “Please don’t tell me I have to wear the suit.” He looks up at Bernard pleadingly.

 

“It’s bad enough you don’t look like Santa,” Bernard repeats. “You gotta wear the suit.”

 

“Dammit,” Bucky mutters.

 

+

 

It turns out they’ve got bigger problems, though. With the elf carnage came elf fear, and Bernard explains that a lot of elves quit and production is way down. “I don’t know what to do. I’m only one elf,” he exclaims.

 

“Okay, family meeting,” Tony announces. “Scram,” he says, pointing to Bernard. “Come back in one hour.”

 

Bernard shrugs and disappears.

 

“I wanna know how he does that,” Tony exclaims. He stands, pulls his waistcoat down, and straightens his tie.

 

“So, the Buckster here is tasked with saving Christmas, and not that I don’t have faith in you, Robo-cop, but I think you’re out of your depth.”

 

“Someone save me,” Bucky mutters.

 

“I’m trying to, my friend. Just bear with me,” Tony says.

 

Bucky groans, and Steve stifles a laugh.

 

“I’ve got a dozen or so companies I can put to work, and the rest of us can coordinate the shipments, since I’m assuming Santa’s workshop is top secret. Bucky here can don the pants, jacket, boots, and hat, and disperse the goodies on the big day.” Tony narrows his eyes. “Wait, did Bernard say anything about a time stream manipulation because I don’t know how…”

 

“That’s need-to-know,” Bernard shares, popping up behind Tony. “And you don’t need to know.”

 

Tony jerks and holds a hand up. “I thought I told you to _scram_.”

 

Bernard shrugs. “You’re not the boss of me.” He turns to Bucky and Steve. “So you guys on board yet?”

 

“We need more information,” Bucky says, reluctantly taking charge.

 

Bernard snaps his fingers, and one of the external hard drives appears in his hand. He hands it to Bucky, along with a tablet that looks nothing like the Stark devices they all use.

 

“What? I can’t read this.”

 

Bernard rolls his eyes and reaches towards Bucky. Bucky jumps back, and Steve grabs Bernard’s wrist in a steely grip. “You. Are. Not. Touching. Him.,” Steve grits out.

 

Bernard pales. “Yeah, sorry, I should’ve – look, I can give you a download of language. It’s yours forever.”

 

“Is it like Hydra tech?,” Bucky asks, his face pale and sweaty.

 

“No! No – I swear,” Bernard promises. “It’s more—um… magic.” He tugs at his wrist that’s still encircled by fingers of steel. “Can I have my arm back?”

 

“Magic?,” Bucky asks drily. He gestures at Steve to let go of the elf’s arm.

 

“I swear on the spirit of Christmas,” Bernard says. “It won’t hurt you. _I_ won’t hurt you.” He adds under his breath, “Even if you did kill my boss and half my friends.”

 

Steve glares at Bernard who wilts under Captain America’s gaze. “I know, I _do_ , okay? It wasn’t him – it was the other guy. I’m just…” Bernard trails off and shrugs. “I’m sorry, okay?”

 

“It’s okay, Stevie,” Bucky says. “Look, Bernard, I’m sorry about your friends and… uh… Santa Claus. I would have never done that if I’d been in control. I also get that it’s sometimes hard for people to separate me from the Soldier.”

 

Bernard nods.

 

“So about that download?” Bucky asks.

 

“I want it too,” Steve said.

 

“Me three,” Tony added.

 

“Do you mind?,” Bucky asks.

 

“No,” Bernard answers. “But you’re responsible if either of them uses their Elvish knowledge for ill.”

 

“You hear that, fellas?,” Bucky says. “Stay in line.”

 

Steve smirks. Tony widens his eyes dramatically in a “who me?” expression.

 

“Shut your eyes,” Bernard orders and touches his fingertips to each man’s temple in turn. Steve notices how warm Bernard’s fingers are and how that warmth seems to seep through his skin and into his bloodstream. When Steve opens his eyes, he can not only read the Elvish document that Jarvis is now projecting, but he also gets the context.

 

Steve looks over at Bucky, who’s reading the document with wide-eyed wonder. “Wow. So we got the full download,” Bucky says.

 

“Well, yeah.” Bernard says. “What good would it be without the full context?”

 

“Cool,” Tony says. “This just saved me a mint in research fees.”

 

Bernard opens his knapsack and pulls out a leather-bound book that he hands to Bucky. “Here’s your supervisor’s manual, if you will. It explains everything.”

 

He hands Tony another external hard drive. “I took the liberty of compiling this year’s inventory. Here’s what we need manufactured – can you handle it?”

 

Tony snatches the drive. “Can I handle it?,” he scoffs. “Whatever.” He calls up a console, plugs in the drive, and gets to work sorting out manufacturing orders.

 

“Do we have to come to the North Pole or wherever?,” Buck asks.

 

“It’s not so much the North Pole as an inter-dimensional bubble, but yeah, you do. The coordinates are in your book,” Bernard says.

 

“We can fly there?,” Steve asks.

 

“Yeah. I mean…use your stealth mode so you’re not tracked. We’ll open the portal when you get close.”

 

“Do you understand how many deliveries we’re talking about?,” Tony asks, one eyebrow cocked higher than the other.

 

“For the deliveries, if you’ll fill the warehouse and send me the coordinates, I’ll zap them to the workshop.”

 

“Zap. That the technical term?,” Tony asks.

 

“It gets the point across,” Bernard says. Tony smirks and goes back to his work.

 

“So do I have to wear the suit?,” Bucky asks. “Pretty sure my handlers destroyed it.”

 

“Of course, you do. Santa _has_ to wear the suit,” Bernard says. “And that thing’s indestructible – it even has a return-to-origin-spell placed on it. When they took it off you and discarded it, the suit zapped itself back to home base. Usually Santa’s body adjusts to the suit.” He looks Bucky up and down. “Man, how do your abs look like that? You’ve eaten like a hundred cookies since _I_ got here.”

 

“Super soldier metabolism,” Steve, Bucky, and Sam all recite.

 

“Well, must be nice,” Bernard says. “Oh, and the sugar cravings do lessen after your first Christmas run. They’re just nature’s way of getting your body ready for the suit, which clearly isn’t going to happen. Guess we’ll have to tailor it for you.”

 

“I’ll be in touch,” Bernard says. “You” – he points at Bucky – “ be at the realm’s entrance at 0800 on December 20th EST. No later, understand?”

 

“Yeah, o—.” Bernard disappears before Bucky can finish his answer, leaving them all blinking with astonishment. All, that is, except Tony, who’s furiously swiping and clicking and searching.

 

It takes about 0.5 seconds before the room erupts into chaos. Steve jumps up onto the table and holds his hands out.

 

“Alright, alright. Everyone calm down.”

 

“Is this for real?,” Darcy asks. “Is Bucky seriously Santa Claus?”

 

“Bernard’s the real deal,” Wanda confirms. “I’ve never read a person like that before. He was telling the truth about everything.”

 

“Whoa,” Peter says. “I just… whoa.”

 

“Man of few words,” Clint observes, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “Knew I liked you.”

 

Natasha, meanwhile, is watching Bucky with a gleam in her eye. “So you’re Santa. You gonna tell me if I’ve been naughty or nice.”

 

Bucky cocks an eyebrow at her. “Natalia, I don’t think you want me to go there.”

 

She laughs.

 

“So, what’s the plan, Steve?,” Sam asks.

 

Steve puts his hands on his hips and frowns down at Sam. “Why ask me? _He’s_ Santa,” he says, jerking a thumb at Bucky.

 

Clint elbows Sam, “Oh man, I bet this is going to put a kink in their love life.”

 

“He does have a thing for suits,” Steve says, smiling fondly at Bucky who grins and waggles his eyebrows.

 

“So do you, Rogers,” Bucky replies. Steve blushes.

 

“I rescind my bet,” Clint announces.

 

“Smart man,” Sam observes.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Natasha says. “Technically, this _is_ going to put a kink in their love life, just not in the way Clint meant at first.”

 

Sam covers his ears. “Oh my lord, I did not need to think about it like that.”

 

“Get off the table, Rogers,” Tony orders. After Steve complies, Tony claps his hands. “Listen, minions, we’ve got work to do.” He waves towards Darcy, Peter, and Wanda. “You three head back to campus and survive exam week. Jane, you get back to university, too, and ensure the future of higher education. Thor, you go do the whole kingdom-ruling thing.” He pauses and looks around the room. “However, the rest of you are now _officially_ Santa’s elves.”

 

“At least we don’t have to wear stupid hats,” Clint grumbles.

 

Tony rubs his hands together gleefully. “Just you wait, Barton.”

 

Clint groans and slumps in his seat.

 

Peter covers his mouth with his hands and laughs. Clint punches him in the arm.

 

+

 

By the first of December, Stark is engrossed in production – He’s converted several of his weapons factories into hubs of industry, and he’s even designed some specialty items and added them to Bernard’s inventory list.

 

He sets a breakneck pace, and he keeps to it, managing the overall operation with Pepper’s help. Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Sam, and Maria are given the task of site management. They report to Jarvis, who keeps Tony and Pepper abreast of the team’s progress.

 

December 7th is agreed upon as the first delivery date.

 

“Are we gonna make the first deadline?,” Bucky asks Tony.

 

“We?,” Tony asks, eyebrow raised. “I think you mean _me_.”

 

Pepper rolls her eyes and smacks Tony’s arm.

 

“Whatever. _We_ ,” Tony mumbles. “Yes, forty warehouses’ worth of presents will be zapped to Santa Central tomorrow morning.”

 

Bucky reviews his manifest. “Awesome.”

 

Tony watches him and smiles. “So, how’s it going, _Santa_? You marking who’s naughty and nice?”

 

Bucky’s been holed up in the tower, reviewing the list. Steve’s helped as he could – making sure Bucky eats and sleeps and running interference with various elf-related issues.

 

At first, Bucky had stared at the lists uncomprehendingly. After several hours of studying them, the information had slotted into place. He’s been steadily working through, marking naughty and nice ever since.

 

He’d gotten particular satisfaction from marking Steve as “nice” (and not just because he’d had Steve’s lips stretched around his cock at the time).

 

Fulfilling his stand-in Santa duties – because he still cannot see himself as _the_ Santa Claus™ – is changing Bucky: He feels lighter, even happier.

 

He doesn’t tell Stark this, though, opting instead to grin and say, “That’s confidential, Tony.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Get back to your pencil-pushing. I’ve got real work to do.”

 

Bucky laughs and leaves Tony to analyzing the latest production reports sent in by his “elves” – the same elves who must now wear specially designed hats as part of their work uniform.

 

(Bruce had sighed heavily but pulled on the hat without argument.

 

“Sleep with one eye open,” Natasha had warned.

 

“I’m going to kill you,” Maria had threatened baldly.

 

“Oh, cool! I get the red one, right?,” Sam had exclaimed.

 

“Man, this sucks,” Clint had moaned. “Why does mine have goddamned bells?”)

 

+

 

December 19th arrives all-too-quickly. The list has been finished and submitted. The last round of gift production has started. And the team gathers for dinner before Steve and Bucky have to depart for the North.

 

The fare is simple: pizza and salad.

 

Thor brings a barrel of Asgardian mead. Peter brings six dozen of Aunt May’s famous chocolate chip cookies.

 

Tony’s planned the evening’s entertainment: watching _Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer_ and singing Christmas carols.

 

He also heavily spikes the punch, which makes the singalong less forced and more Avengers' drunken karaoke.

 

When Natasha, Clint, Sam, Maria, and Bruce are coerced into singing “We are Santa’s Elves,” Darcy surreptitiously gets out her phone and begins filming.

 

“Are you sure that is wise?,” Thor asks.

 

“Dude, this is the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” Darcy answers.

 

“Absolutely brilliant,” Peter agrees.

 

“This is an excellent life choice,” Wanda adds.

 

Thor drums his fingers on the table, watching as Tony calls a halt to the song and makes them start over. He grins slowly.

 

“So who is going to add this video to the wide web of the world?,” he asks.

 

“That’d be me,” Jane says with a sly grin and climbs onto Thor’s lap. He wraps his arms around her small frame and kisses her cheek.

 

“I hope it gets hit many times,” Thor offers.

 

“Oh, it will get many, _many_ hits by the time we’re done with it,” Darcy promises.

 

Clint spies the little group and narrows his eyes, pointing at Peter and then miming cutting his throat. Peter clears his throat nervously. “Hey, um. Guys? Maybe we shouldn’t.”

 

Darcy whacks him on the arm. “Don’t be a baby. We’re totally doing this.”

 

“I don’t sense that Clint will literally kill you – or any of us,” Wanda promises. “But you might want to keep an eye out for excessive pranking for a while.”

 

“Great,” Peter mutters.

 

+

 

Bucky and Steve make it to the realm’s entrance by Bernard’s deadline. They’re given entrance, and what they see leaves them wide-eyed with wonder.

 

It’s a holiday extravaganza – fewer streamers and less tinsel than you might expect from classic films and more of everything else: twinkling lights, greenery with artfully placed red berries, decorated trees in every room, and the like.

 

“At least we don’t have to duck to get through the doors,” Bucky comments as they approach the main workshop.

 

“What’d you expect?,” Bernard grumps from behind, startling both of them.

 

“Can you stop that?,” Bucky demands.

 

Bernard glowers. “The entire place is set up to adjust to Santa – since you’re a giant, the doorways are now giant-sized.”

 

“That’s good,” Steve comments, amending hastily when he sees Bernard’s now glowering scowl, “Isn’t it?”

 

“Only if you’re a giant and impervious to drafts,” Bernard gripes. “This way,” he orders, heading off and leading them into the workshop down a long hallway.

 

It’s lined with glass panes, and they watch the workers wrapping, labeling, and sorting gifts.

 

Steve elbows Bucky and points to a ledge at the end of the hallway, above the door, where a petite elf sits next to a sign that reads “30 minutes since the last papercut.” Their headset crackles, and the elf listens, sighs, and erases the “30,” replacing it with “0.”

 

Bucky snorts. Bernard glares. “We take workplace safety seriously around here, guys,” he informs them.

 

“Of course you do,” Bucky says. “Good, good,” Steve adds.

 

Bernard points them to another door. “That’s your office. Apartment’s above it. Last Santa liked to be near his work, so he didn’t take the house.”

 

“Bucky gets a house?,” Steve asks.

 

“ _Santa_ gets a house,” Bernard corrects. “It’s over on Mistletoe Ridge and overlooks the entire village. We don’t have a lot of time to spare so I thought you’d want to be on-site.”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Bucky says. He gives Steve a pointed look. They’ve had the conversation several times over the past month about his role as Santa.

 

“Now that you’re done with the list, you need to focus on strategy and planning for the big night. You’ll find everything you need in that room – and it’s all classified information, need-to-know only and Stark does not need to know, understand?”

 

“Yes, we understand,” Steve says. Bernard narrows his eyes.

 

“The spouses don’t usually get so involved in Santa’s role,” Bernard says. He holds up a hand to cut off whatever Bucky’s opened his mouth to say. “But we’re making an exception for you, Captain. Don’t make us regret it.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes at the elf, but Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s arm. “Sure, Bernard. I appreciate your leniency.”

 

Bernard harrumphs. “You’ve missed breakfast, but the 24-hour bakery makes deliveries.”

 

“24-hour bakery,” Bucky mouths at Steve, already envisioning his first cookie order.

 

“Lunch is in three hours,” Bernard continues. “You can join us in the dining hall or have it sent to your apartment. Just alert the kitchen.”

 

“How do—“ Bucky starts.

 

“Office procedures manual. The red Claus tablet on your desk will tell you everything you need to know.”

 

Bernard stalks off. “I’ll check on you later,” he calls over his shoulder. “Get busy.”

 

Bucky slips his arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him close. “Hey,” he whispers. “Hear that order?”

 

“ _Not_ that kind of busy,” Bernard yells.

 

Bucky startles and jumps away from Steve. Bernard hasn’t even turned around. “Freaking elf hearing,” he mutters.

 

“I heard that,” Bernard shouts as he goes through the exit door.

 

Steve laughs loudly. Even Bucky lets loose a chuckle. “Alright, _spouse_ , let’s see the temporary digs, shall we?” He crooks his right arm.

 

Steve grins and takes Bucky’s proffered arm. “Why yes, _spouse_ , let’s.”

 

+

 

The next days are filled with preparations. Steve tackles scheduling logistics, leaving Bucky to oversee the order deliveries and the mechanics of things.

 

They get a few short reprieves – a caroling sing held in their honor where Bucky demonstrates that he can still carry a tune and a tour of the village at large (“This place is gorgeous, Buck.” “Yeah, it really is.”) The daily sparring matches, though, are the best: The first one is impromptu, sparked by too many hours bent over tablets and schematics. They go at it in a snow-covered field and are lying winded and battered on the snow when they realize they‘ve drawn a crowd. Bucky jumps to his feet and takes an awkward bow that Steve matches. The elves break into cheers, and a daily ritual is born.

 

The suit-fitting is an ongoing process as Bucky hates the traditional Santa suit. Tony had come up with an adaptive polymer that would adjust to the varying climate temperatures as needed on the big night, but Bernard vetoes the suit’s sleek style and color.

 

“It has to be red. And it can’t look like something a superhero would wear," he says.

 

“Why not?,” Bucky demands.

 

Bernard stares at him, appalled. “Because it’s _tradition_. ‘Santa wears boots and suit of red,’” he sings. “Don’t you know this?”

 

Bucky snorts. “Fine. But I’m not wearing some fuzzy, fur lined bag.”

 

“Worked for you last time,” Bernard points out.

 

“Worked for _the Asset_ last time,” Bucky corrects. “ _I_ have fashion standards. And the old suit doesn’t meet them.”

 

What they come up with is a sleeker version of the classic suit with a lining of Tony’s special fabric. The pants are fitted and show off Bucky’s thighs (much to Steve’s delight). The jacket’s bulkier than Bucky prefers, but it’s tailored now with pins and tucks that, along with the pants, give what Bucky finally deems a decent silhouette.

 

“I didn’t know you were such a fashionista,” Steve teases.

 

Bucky snorts. “And here _I’m_ supposed to be the one with memory issues.”

 

Steve laughs and kisses Bucky’s cheek.

 

When the suit arrives adjusted to Bucky’s specifications, he models it for Steve. “Tell me what you think.”

 

Steve looks him up and down slowly, walks around him in a circle, and tilts his head considering before he speaks.

 

“Oh my god, spit it out. Do I look like an idiot or what?”

 

“I think,” Steve says slowly. “That whatever happens, you’re keeping the suit.”

 

Bucky smiles. “Oh, I am, am I?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Steve says, grabbing Bucky’s sides and pulling him close. “So tell me, _Santa,_ have I been naughty or nice?” He places a kiss at the joint of Bucky’s jaw and begins working his way down.

 

Bucky shudders. “Oh, nice, for sure.” Steve lightly nips Bucky’s neck and laughs when Bucky jerks. “Make that naughty.”

 

Three hours later, a red-faced Bucky calls Bernard to request a favor.

 

Office gossip will have it that Bernard yelled, “You got _what_ on the suit?” before slamming the phone down and literally banging his head on the table.

 

The launderer will never respond directly to the various stories circulating, rebuffing inquisition with the revelation that he’d signed an ironclad non-disclosure agreement.

 

None of that will stop the rumors.

 

+

 

Christmas Eve dawns bright and beautiful. A fresh snowfall glistens in the morning light.

 

Bernard is chipper that morning when he meets with Bucky and Steve for a breakfast meeting. “We’re all set,” he says excitedly. “The gifts are ready to go, the sleigh is tuned, and –”

 

Just then, Mara, the Chief Caretaker of Reindeer, comes bursting in.

 

“Mara!,” Bernard exclaims.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Really sorry, but it’s the reindeer – they’re, they’re –”

 

Bucky’s stomach sinks. “They’re what?”

 

“They’re _sick_ – a virus of some sort. There’s reindeer puke _everywhere_. No way they they’re flying tonight.”

 

Bernard gasps. “That can’t be. They _have_ to fly.”

 

Bucky gives him a quizzical look. “Thought you said they’re just for show, that the sleigh can go on its own.”

 

“’Course it can,” Bernard scoffs. “But it’s tradition.”

 

Ever the strategist, Steve asks, “Don’t you have back-up fliers?”

 

“They’re sick too,” Mara says.

 

“So we find some other reindeer,” Steve offers diplomatically.

 

Bernard and Mara give him a “how stupid are you” look. “Or maybe not,” Steve says, slumping back into his seat.

 

“They’re special,” Mara explains. “Not all reindeer are _flying_ reindeer.”

 

“So, we need imposter flying reindeer?,” Bucky asks.

 

“Yeah, but how can we do that?,” Bernard asks.

 

“Leave it to us,” Bucky says, gesturing at Steve.

 

+

 

“I’m not doing it unless you say it, Barnes,” Tony responds.

 

“I’m not saying it, you asshole,” Bucky replies.

 

“ _Say it_ ,” Tony wheedles. “Say it. Say it. Say it.”

 

“FINE,” Bucky yells into the phone. He takes a deep breath. “Iron Man, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?”

 

“Happy to,” Tony says smugly. “Hey, Jarvis, you recorded that, right?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis answers.

 

“You son of a –“

 

“Gotta go, Santa Claus,” Tony says, and the line goes dead.

 

“He recorded it, didn’t he?,” Steve manages to ask. He’s shaking with suppressed laughter, and his face is red.

 

“Of course,” Bucky answers. He drops his head in his hands. “I am so fucked.”

 

“Eh, not yet.” Steve looks at his watch. “But I think we have time.”

 

+

 

It’s a Christmas that will go down in history.

 

Tony arrives with Sam, Thor, Natasha, and Clint in tow. He has wings for the non-fliers, including Steve.

 

Steve balks at first, but Bucky whispers something in his ear that makes him blush. He slips on the wings without argument after that.

 

After consulting heavily censored schematics and talking shop with Mara and Bernard, Tony checks everyone’s gear. “Okay,” he says. “We’re gonna have two flyers next to the sleigh – that’s Sam and you.” Tony points to Steve. “Or, as I like to think of you two, Dasher and Dancer.”

 

Bucky snorts a laugh.

 

“Next up, we have Natasha, who’s replacing Prancer and Vixen. Then, Clint for Comet and Cupid, Thor for Donner and Blitzen, and I am – of course – Rudolph.”

 

“Oh, of course,” Natasha says drily.

 

Bucky’s not convinced this will work until he sees it with his own eyes: The Avengers assemble, and Tony activates the holograms. Suddenly, there are reindeer in front of the sleigh instead of grumpy superheroes.

 

“You did good, Stark,” Bernard concedes.

 

The reindeer disappear, exposing the Avengers. “Now will you trust me to study elf tech?”

 

“Um…” Bernard appears to ponder the question. “No.” He claps Bucky on the shoulder. “Suit up, Big Guy.”

 

+

 

Bucky and the rest of the Avengers make the rounds in record time. Bucky even remembers to shout the catchphrase, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

 

The elves are already deep into the after party by the time Santa and his reindeer arrive back at Headquarters.

 

Bucky gets to the party last, and as soon as Bernard spots him, the thoroughly sauced elf throws an arm around his waist leans his head against Bucky’s stomach. “Bucky!,” he yells. “You’re not half-bad as Santa, you know.”

 

Bucky laughs and pats Bernard on the back. “It wasn’t all-bad playing Santa this year either.”

 

“Well, party hard while you can,” Bernard advises, toasting Bucky with his mostly-empty tumbler. “For tomorrow night, the work begins.”

 

Bucky’s brow furrows. “What are we doing tomorrow night, Bernard?”

 

“Planning for the next Christmas, what else?,” Bernard answers. “Oh, there’s Mara, excuse me.”

 

Steve comes to stand beside Bucky a moment later. They both watch as Bernard talks animatedly with Mara. “Are they flirting?,” Steve asks.

 

“Looks like. Don’t know, and don’t care. The less I know about the elves’ personal lives the better,” Bucky declares.

 

“Does this mean you’re going to stay on Santa duty?,” Steve asks as he slips an arm around Bucky’s waist. Bucky leans into the touch.

 

“I don’t know.” Bucky watches the partiers for a long moment. Everyone’s having a good time – the elves, the Avengers, even the civilians. (Bruce, Pepper, Wanda, Peter, Darcy, Maria, and Jane arrived while the rest of the team was making the Christmas rounds.) “This is nice,” he says. “It feels good to make people happy, you know.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He leans his head against Bucky’s. “Well, whatever you decide, I’m on board.”

 

“Thanks, Stevie.” He turns and kisses Steve’s temple. “Merry Christmas, love.”

 

Steve smiles, bright and happy, and Bucky’s heart warms. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

 

Steve’s mouth claims his, and Bucky relaxes into Steve’s embrace. For long seconds, all he knows is the taste and smell of Steve.

 

He distantly hears a chant of “San-ta, San-ta, San-ta” and finally ends the kiss. Dazed, he looks around the room.

 

A giant multi-screen has descended from the ceiling, and every screen is replaying a loop of the very NSFW kiss that he and Steve just shared. Raucous cheers fill the room. Some elves begin singing “I saw Daddy kissing Santa Clause,” and the melody quickly echoes in the room.

 

Steve barks a laugh. “Oh my god,” he murmurs.

 

Bucky drops his forehead to Steve’s shoulder. “Pinch me. Tell me this is a dream and that didn’t just happen.”

 

“Nah, babe. This is your life. These are your friends. These are your choices.”

 

“Yeah, not making me feel better about things,” Bucky mutters. “My life is being broadcast on Elf-cam – what even?!”

 

Steve slips something onto the ring finger of Bucky’s right hand and asks quietly, “What if it’s my life, too – officially, I mean?”

 

Bucky stares at the simple band and meets Steve’s hopeful eyes. “Really?,” he asks, eyes wide.

 

“Really,” Steve says.

 

Bucky cups the back of Steve’s head with his metal hand and pulls him close. This kiss is short but sweet. Bucky smiles and feels Steve's lips curve upwards too.

 

“Let’s do this,” he says. “’Til the end of the line.”

 

“’Til the end of the line,” Steve promises.

 

“Okay, enough sappy shit,” Tony calls out through a megaphone that he’s acquired from some nefarious source. “C'mon, you two, it's time to rock around the Christmas tree!”

 

The image of Bucky, whose mouth is securely attached to Steve’s, flipping Tony off with his metal hand illustrates many an elf’s holiday card the following year.

 

(And also Pepper’s and Bruce’s. Jarvis’s too.)

 

Happy Holidays to all! <3

 


End file.
